


Keep Calm and Carrion

by ProseApothecary



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: An AU where everything's the same except their office has cubicles, F/F, Minor Violence, My First Work in This Fandom, Ominous Flower Arrangements, Pre-Slash/UST/However you wanna look at it, Valentine's Day, Villanelle Struggling to Flirt with her Work Wife without Getting the Police Involved, Working together on a case, dark humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Villanelle’s smile gets wider. She lifts her hand to Eve’s hair.“Scalping’s not really my style.”She curls a strand around her finger and tugs, once.“I’d make an exception for you,” she says. “But only if you asked nicely. I suggest saying it with flowers.”
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	Keep Calm and Carrion

Villanelle sits herself on the corner of Eve’s desk, right on top of the papers she’s looking through.

Eve gives her a look, somewhere between pleading and exasperated. Villanelle, as usual, pays it no mind.

“Valentine’s Day,” she proclaims, “is a public holiday.”

“It is _not_ ,” Eve retorts.

“Oh. Well, Konstantin always let me have the day off.”

“That’s because Konstantin spends the day at a retreat where-”

“I’ll strike you a deal. I will come in tomorrow, but I expect to see a desk piled high with Valentine’s gifts. Bears, chocolates, flowers-”

“You will come in tomorrow because it’s your _job_.”

“If I come in and there are no flowers on my desk, I might murder someone.”

“You can’t use that as a threat every time you want something.”

“There’s a lady who sits on the subway and exudes dish soap smell, every day. I’ve been looking for an excuse.”

She thinks Villanelle has a few more qualms than that. But she’s been wrong before.

“… _Fine_.”

_Time to find Hugo._

Eve is waiting at Villanelle’s cubicle the next day, all set to have a murder-free Valentine’s Day.

“Ooh,” Villanelle says when she walks to her desk, ten minutes late. “Funeral flowers. Classy.”

“Thanks,” Hugo says, peering into the cubicle. “Orchids represent love, beauty and strength. Granted, I did think Eve was picking them up for Niko, but – well, it suits you a little better, I would say.”

“Hugo,” Eve says, “stop flirting with the assassin.”

Villanelle looks at Eve.

“What? You never said I had to buy them.”

“You are very sneaky, Eve. You’d do well in the murder profession.”

“Means a lot,” Eve says dryly. “Coming from you.”

“Eve,” Villanelle says, adopting her accent. “Stop flirting with the assassin.”

Hugo hides something between a laugh and a cough behind his hand.

“Perhaps we could all get to work,” Eve says darkly, “unless you have any other Valentine’s traditions you’d like to carry on.”

“Just one,” says Villanelle, stepping over to Hugo and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “It’s polite to thank people. When they buy you gifts.”

“And you’re nothing,” Eve says, “if not polite.”

“You should be polite to everyone you don’t plan on murdering. Keeps things neater.”

Given personal experience, Eve does not find that reassuring.

When Eve goes to her cubicle the next day, there are flowers on her desk.

There’s also the lingering smell of death.

Given the current state of her life, she’s not sure which is more surprising.

She wonders if Villanelle reverts to a cat when she’s pushed. Hiding dead gifts. Mice, or rats, or, God forbid, the old woman on the subway.

She wouldn’t.

Right?

She starts pulling out drawers.

“Carrion flowers,” comes a voice from behind her.

Eve slams a drawer back in, as if she was caught snooping. Which is _insane_ , because it’s her own goddamn cubicle.

She turns around to see Villanelle pointing at the bouquet on Eve’s desk. “They smell of meat,” she says, then tilts her head. “Always makes me hungry. What about you?”

“… _No_.”

Villanelle smiles. “Buy the flowers yourself, next time. Or your next gift won’t just _smell_ like an abattoir.”

“Really? You’re going full Carrie on me?”

Villanelle takes a step closer. It’s such an _irritating_ power play. One that forces Eve to either tilt her head back, and stare up at her; or keep her gaze fixed straight ahead. Towards her mouth.

Or take a step back.

But she’s done stepping back.

And she’s done looking up.

She stares straight ahead, watches her mouth form the words:

“Maybe. You’d look good in red. And,” she adds thoughtfully, “sticky.”

Villanelle’s wearing something green and iridescent and definitely not Business Casual Friday.

“You’d look better in something that you didn’t scalp a beetle for. Target sells work-appropriate button-ups, if you’re wondering,”

Villanelle’s smile gets wider. She lifts her hand to Eve’s hair.

“Scalping’s not really my style.”

She curls a strand around her finger and tugs, once.

“I’d make an exception for you,” she says. “But only if you asked nicely. I suggest saying it with flowers.”

And with that, she walks out.

And there is no way that Eve wants her to have the last word, but she also has absolutely no response to _that_.

Eve looks up carrion flowers. Just to make sure that sure that was the smell. You can never be too careful about ensuring your co-workers haven’t stuck a finger in your paper shredder.

That takes her into an internet deep dive, where she finds that _apparently_ , meat bouquets are a thing.

Doubting her grip on sanity more and more with every passing moment, she finds an online store.

She’s prepared, waiting by Villanelle’s cubicle when she comes in the next day.

“Carrion flowers,” she intones dryly as Villanelle surveys the bacon roses on her desk. “They smell of meat.”

Villanelle turns, arms akimbo, mouth upturned.

Hugo walks past the cubicle, circling back to stick his head in when he sees the two of them. “Hey Eve, just letting you know, your cubicle’s smelled fucking rank for the past few days. Maybe try a new perfume.”

Villanelle smiles wider. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”

“Listen,” Hugo says, “I’m flattered, but I do draw the line at dating murderers.”

“I had no idea your standards were so high,” Eve mutters.

Hugo’s eyes catch on the bouquet. “Is that…evidence? A human bouquet?”

Eve sighs. “No, it’s not a human bouquet. It is meat that’s been sitting out for 2 hours though.”

“Ok,” Hugo says, glancing between Eve and Villanelle. “I’m just gonna…bye.” He heads out.

“You scared Hugo,” Villanelle says. “Well done.”

“You started it,” Eve says, hearing how childish it sounds. “Are we even? No more deathflowers on my desk?”

“Because you gave me a meat bouquet? Are you serious?”

Eve stands there, trying to think of an argument. Villanelle just sits at her desk, and throws a bacon rose into her mouth.

Eve is on edge for the next week.

It reminds her of the first few April Fools’ Days she spent with Niko, before she ground all the whimsy out of him.

Except instead of fake spiders, she’s on the lookout for very real ones.

But as always, Villanelle appeals to her baser instincts.

She’s walking into the office on Monday, rain-drenched and half an hour late, and not in a good mood.

“Eve,” she hears as she heads past Villanelle’s cubicle. “Catch.”

Her hand darts out to fist around a single red rose.

She hisses as a sharp, seeping pain emanates from her hand, and opens her fingers, where the rain is mixing with blood to form watercolour ebbs and swirls. Gingerly pulls at the stem, thorns freeing themselves inch by inch, leaving two gashes in her skin. She holds the stem of the rose by two fingers, avoiding the now-ruddy thorns.

First aid should be her first thought. But she looks over at Villanelle, dangling one leg over the other as she lounges on her desk chair.

Smiling, pleased. Almost as if she’s expecting Eve to be pleased too.

“Now we’re even.”


End file.
